He loved and lost and left for foreign lands
Away from olive branch and temperate bay,
Where what was known were climate's cold demands
And frost instead of dew proclaimed the day.
Around the Earth his refuge lay; the air
That gusts upon his tear-stained cheeks ripostes
In slicing curls. In perilous despair
He flies alone towards the snowcaps' gloss.
When Autumn clasped around the one who spurned
Him, Zephyr crossed beyond meridians,
Equator, spheres and hemispheres; he turned
To gentle Spring the sleeping hinterlands.
But soon the wind returns again and sips
The bitterness of absence on his lips.
A place for my poems 